


Farseer: A Legend of the Middleworld

by Amphigorym



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, M/M, None - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-01-19
Updated: 2001-01-19
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:35:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amphigorym/pseuds/Amphigorym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Sentinel Au Fairy Tale, written for my niece Madison</p>
            </blockquote>





	Farseer: A Legend of the Middleworld

 

Farseer: A Legend of the Middleworld

By Martha Christine

 

Maddz lay on her back in the meadow, head pillowed on Greer's side, pulling the petals off a violet elderflower. "One for sorrow, two for joy, three for girl, four for boy, five for silver, six for gold, seven for secrets never told. One for sorrow, two fo....."

Greer opened her eyes and regarded the small girl using her as a cushion. "How long do you intend to keep doing that?"

"Until I run out of petals," Maddz replied. "Kleiv says this will tell your fortune to come."

"Piffle." A deep voice rumbled, and Gij pushed her way through the thick grass, eyeing both child and wulfyn with equal disdain. Her sleek black body circled three times, then she settled down with a sigh. "You'd do as well to write your wish in dragon's blood on the back of your hand and sleep facing West."

Maddz looked up from her petal plucking. "Does that work too?"

"About as much as counting rhymes." Gij yawned. "Honestly, Greer, you shouldn't indulge her."

"I had nothing to do with it." Greer snorted royally, settling back down. "It's the boy who's......."

"Oh, bother!" Maddz interrupted, sitting up and regarding the stem she held unhappily. "I've run out of petals!"

Gij stretched, but didn't open her eyes. "On what?"

"One," The child murmured. "Now I've nothing to look forward to but a lifetime of sorrow."

"Continue with another flower." Greer advised.

"Can I do that?"

"Don't see why not. I've never seen anything in the rules against it."

"Good." Maddz smiled and picked a scarlet primghar. "One for sorrow, two for joy...."

"Shall I tell you a story?" Greer asked.

The girl looked at her. "Is it a sad one?"

"In spots. But it ends happily enough."

Maddz shifted so she was looking into the wulfyn's blue eyes. "Is it too sad? Because if it's too sad, then I might cry and you'd have to take me home to Mother."

"It is not too sad, you may feel like crying, but you probably won't, and in case you've forgotten, Mother is out of town for the day. Would you like me to take you to Mrs. Anstable?"

Maddz giggled. "I'd sooner be raised by wild beasts."

"I thought you were." Gij remarked sleepily. "For Dar's sake, Greer, tell her the story! Though you'd think she'd know better by now."

Greer regarded the patjer with a stare of such coldness, she actually cracked open one amber eye. "Do you have problems with my stories, Gij?"

"Don't fight!" Maddz positioned herself between them. "Gij doesn't mean to be cranky; she can't help that she's a cat. And you tell wonderful stories, Greer." Her face grew thoughtful. "Although it is sort of odd that Katjen and Evian and Delarius never believe me when I tell them who told me the story in the first place. Why is that?"

"Because you're moon-struck, child. You think just everyone can talk to wulfyn and patjers?"

Gij gave a long-suffering sigh. "Greer, either tell her the blasted story or I'm  going to tell one. And we all know what sort of story cat's tell."

"Sad ones." Greer opined.

"Very sad ones." Maddz agreed. "I don't want to hear one of Gij's stories. Not today." She settled herself on her side, facing the wulfyn. "What's the story about, Greer?"

"A man who was moon-struck too. But no one understood his gift."

"Like nobody but Mother and Father and Kleiv understand me?"

"He didn't even have that much. And the fact that he was different just made his Father mad. He wanted him to be like ordinary people."

"I feel sad already. But you may go on anyway."

"Thank you."

 

Of course, the man hadn't always been a man full-grown. He started out as a baby, but his Mother died when he was very young. She understood his gift. But his Father never had, and once his Mother was gone, he wanted him to pretend he was just a normal little boy. But of course he couldn't. No one with a gift can.

His gift was a very special one, too. He could see things far far away. Eyes like a vaulturn. And it wasn't just his eyes. He could smell things far away, too. At five, he could tell which stream water had come from just by sipping it and describe what had happened in a certain spot by holding the dirt in his hands. It was even said he could hear the Guardian's of the East singing on Darsnakt though that might be stretching it a bit.

None of this made a whit of difference to his Father. He didn't want a son who was moon-struck. And it didn't help that his lesser brother, whom his Mother died birthing, was a regular little boy, with no trace of magix in him. And so it was that, as they grew older, his Father doted on the lesser son, Steffen, and ignored the eldest. What times he wasn't yelling at him for being who he was or beating him for not being like other children...

 

"Mother and Father would never beat me," Maddz interjected.

"Ah, but they understand your gift. And they love you. The boy had no such luxury."

 

As he grew older, the boy became more and more withdrawn. Part of it was his Father's treatment, but a greater part was that as he matured, so did his gift. His eyes and ears and mouth and nose and sense of touch all became so sensitive he could no longer stand to go out in public. His head hurt all the time, for he had no one to teach him how to sort through the babble of sounds that assailed him. His skin could hardly bear the weight of clothes; he felt each individual strand of the fibers that wove them. He became thin and pale, for his heightened taste and smell made eating a simple slice of bread agony.

But the worst by far was his sight. He couldn't focus his eyes on any one thing; it was if he saw everything at once, with no way to escape save lying in the dark where he could see nothing at all. And sometimes, if he glimpsed something brightly colored or moving, he would concentrate on it so intently, he lost all contact with the world and fell into a waking dream, from which no one could rouse him.

 

"What's a waking dream?"

"It's when your eyes and ears remain open, but you see and hear nothing. The more learned magix say that such a person has withdrawn into their own mind and become lost there. Perhaps it's true."

The first time the young man fell thus, it lasted a whole day. But with each successive spell, the periods of dream-waking became longer, and many in the village began to say it was only a matter of time until the day came when he would be gone forever. Then too, there were those who intimated the young man was a lack-wit and should be put away quietly.

Such talk was what finally roused his Father to action, for he knew the waking dreams were related to his son's gift. He also knew he had selfishly ignored the gift, trying to wish it away, and now his son was paying the price for his pride.

So he sent word throughout all the Middleworld, seeking someone who could help the boy learn to control the magix within him. He was a wealthy man, you see, in a position of power, and such men think money can buy anything. And anything was what it bought; for his announcement brought every fakker and charlatan for leagues around, all of them claiming the power to teach the youth how to use his gift. Of course, none of them could, and many did more harm than good. In less than a fortnight, the man was many kraals poorer. And his son continued to slip away.

Just when he was ready to give up hope, the man had a dream. In it, his wife came to him, looking not a day older than when she died, and stood beside his bed, regarding him sorrowfully.

'Why do you look at me so?" The man asked, for her eyes held such sadness he felt as if he would drown in it.

'Well you know why,' she replied. 'Dar gave our firstborn a marvelous gift. Yet how can I rest when the sound of his sorrow awakens me?'

Then the man became very afraid; for seldom does a soul return from its slumber in the East. 'I have done what I can,' he said, though he knew it a lie.

So did she. 'You have done nothing,' she said softly. 'Never have you given him the least bit of praise or the barest of succor. You are selfish and cruel, and you treat him lower than you would an animal. I bore him; I nourished him in his infancy. The gift was given through me, and had you not insisted on another son to bear your oh-so-noble name, I would've remained alive to teach him. Now I can do nothing but watch him suffer and listen to his pain.'

The man was trembling. 'But surely something can be done! It cannot be too late to right the wrongs I have inflicted.'

Her lovely face was grave. 'There is yet one way. But it will require you do exactly as I instruct. And the cost will be dear; dearer than any you have paid. Yet if you are willing, it may come to pass. What say you?'

And what could he say, as she stood there and looked at him with eyes cold as the Western winds? 'I will do anything you ask, so long as it saves him.'

'Then prepare to pay the price,' she smiled sadly, and she leaned down and kissed him, her lips dry as dust. 'For his gift is such that there exists only one person who can teach him the control he so desperately needs, and he is coming even as I speak. When he arrives, he will name the price, and if you truly wish your son to live, then you must give it, no matter what it be.'

And the man would have nodded, except that her kiss had chilled him to the bone, and he could only lie there and watch as she faded away to nothingness, wondering if he was truly willing to pay the price, no matter how high it might be.

 

Several days later, as the man sat on the front porch of his great house, still brooding over the dream, he heard the sound of someone cheerfully whistling off-key. Soon, a young man came round the bend in the road that led to the gate. Small and slender, with long, curly auburn hair, dressed in simple clothing and carrying a pack. Yet as he got closer, opening the gate and coming up the walk (for all the world as if he belonged there!), the man saw that his eyes were a deep, almost amethyst blue, and held a certain sadness. Only when he'd gotten as far as the front steps did he stop, and the whistling died away.

For a moment, the two regarded each other. But it was the youth who spoke first. "You are he who asked for someone of magix to help his son?"

The man nodded warily. "And you are but one of many who have come. Can you prove you have the power to help?"

The deep blue eyes met his, and the man felt a chill run through him. "I had the strangest dream the other night," the youth said softly. "A beautiful woman I had never seen told me that only I could save her son. He has the gift of Farseeing, she said, but no teacher to guide him. And when I asked her why me, do you know what she said?"

The man shook his head. "She said I was the other half of his soul; all the things he had never done nor seen nor heard nor thought of. 'You will be his laughter,' she said, and she told me to come here, saying I could name any price I wished and it would be paid. Now what do you think of that?"

The man now knew how a stoat pinned by the gaze of a krash'a felt. "I think you are the one whose coming was foretold. What is your price?"

And the young man laughed, the sound of water flowing freely. "I think it would be ill to name a price until I've seen him." He replied.

Upstairs in the great house, the eldest son lay naked in the darkness, eyes tightly closed. He had barred the door against the servants and his Father, and had not eaten for days. He knew he was dying, and he wished only for Death to claim him quickly, even if it came from the West, for no torture could be greater than what his own body inflicted upon him.

Lost in his misery, he didn't stir when the youth with the amethyst eyes climbed in through the open window of the room.

The first thing he became aware of was a soft voice that seemed to come from far away. Unlike his Father's bellowing, or the voices of the servants or his brother, this one didn't make the pain in his head worsen. Instead, it calmed the cacophony that had clogged his ears for what felt like forever, until the noise died down to a bearable level and he could actually hear what the voice said.

My mother, he thought, eyes still tightly closed, but he allowed himself a smile. I must be near death, then, and she has come with the Guardians to take me.

But the voice continued to murmur, and after a short time, he recognized it as a man's voice. That alone was curiosity enough, for the only male voices he heard on a regular basis were those of his Father and brother, and finally, though it felt as if his tongue would crumble to dust, he managed to speak.

"Who are you?" It was the barest of whispers.

Then came laughter, gentle and musical. "Better to ask who are you, for your father neglected to tell me your name."

It had been a long time since anyone had called him by his given name, so it took the eldest a few minutes to remember. "Ellis," he finally whispered. "Before she died, my mother told me it means "Strength." And he would have wept, but no tears would come.

Then a hand touched his arm lightly. "She was right, you know. For the greatest strength comes through suffering."

Ellis considered this for a moment, wondering why the hand on his skin didn't burn like clothing did. "Do you have a name also?"

"Several," the voice replied. "But for here and now, you may call me Jakob."

Intrigued, Ellis opened his eyes; he wanted to see the one who talked to him so simply but said so much. When he'd climbed through the window, Jakob had left the draperies open just a bit, and Ellis' ability to see in near darkness allowed him to make out the other's face as if it were full sunlight. And so he looked at the young man sitting on the edge of his cot, at the long auburn curls and the deep blue eyes, at the upturned nose and the way his mouth smiled even when he was looking grave. His face spoke of all the things Ellis had never seen nor heard nor smelled nor tasted; deep-flowing water and ripe apples and the freedom to roam and be whatever he wanted, answerable to no one. "I feel as if I know you," he finally said, his own voice soft as Jakob's.

"You do," Jakob replied. "I am your other half. And I have come to teach you how to use your gift for the good of all."

 

That is how Jakob came to live in Ellis' Father's house.

The first week he was there, he was seldom seen; for he spent most of his time in Ellis' room talking to him about his gift, what it meant and how he would control it, given time and patience. And together, they worked on giving Ellis control, so that he was no longer overwhelmed by his senses.

Each night, in the study of the great house, Ellis' Father would sit in front of the fire, listening to the voices and laughter upstairs. And he would wonder what the price would be for this miracle Jakob was performing.

Soon, for the first time in longer than anyone could remember, Ellis ventured out of his room, and then, out of the house. It wasn't unusual for him and Jakob to disappear long before his Father was up, carrying a lunch the kitchen servant's packed them, and not come back until well after everyone was in bed. What few times he saw him, his Father couldn't help but notice how he'd changed, as if he'd grown to manhood overnight. He was taller now, and his thinness had matured into a solid muscularity. His pallor had given way to a healthy tan, his gray eyes were clear, and he often laughed aloud; usually in reaction to something Jakob said. Towards his father and lesser brother, he remained civil but distant; only with Jakob did he totally relax. Oft times, the father would watch the two of them together and remember what his wife had said, and feel again the chill of his dream. For he was beginning to suspect that the price would be very dear indeed.

And so the season's changed, and still Jakob remained, while Ellis grew stronger, more sure of himself and his gift, more in control. The servants and his lesser brother soon learned it was impossible to keep a secret around him; for Jakob had taught him how to use his hearing selectively, blocking out anything that might distract him. Already, this ability had saved the life of a neighbor's young daughter who became lost in the woods. Everyone in the village searched for her, but it was Ellis, with Jakob at his side, who used his gift to find her, following trails no one else could see, listening for her cries amidst the sounds of the forest. Her parents hugged and kissed them both and offered them money, but Ellis replied that he had only done what he was born to do.

Winter came, and Ellis learned archery, bringing home game for the table. Steffen insisted to his father that, on one of the rare occasions he was allowed to go with them, Ellis had spotted and nailed a hare at a good 300 yards.

"And where was Jakob?" The old man asked, the vague resentment he'd felt building up over the months towards the youth intensifying.

"He was standing next to him, hand on his arm, talking to him softly. I can never hear what he's saying, but Ellis evidently can."

And the Father added to his list of grievances against this stranger Steffen's admiration for his brother; for before he'd come, the boy admired no one but him.

Winter melted into the planting season, and soon, it was almost summer again. Jakob had been with them for nearly a year, and in that year, Ellis had become a totally different person. Or at least that's how his Father saw him; unwilling to admit he'd simply become what he was meant to be.

One summer's eve, as he was sitting on the porch wondering how best to be rid of the one who had thrown his household into turmoil, he was startled by a sound of such pure anguish, his heart froze in his chest, and he looked up to see Ellis coming up the front walk, Jakob's unnaturally still body cradled in his arms.

Inside and upstairs to their room, and then Ellis was ordering the servants to bring hot water, sending Steffen for the village healer, and he and his Father were left alone as he lowered the limp form onto the bed. A deep cut across the younger man's forehead oozed red, as did another on his arm, and only gradually did the Father realize that Ellis was bleeding as well but seemed unaware of it, as he gently stroked Jakob's face and called his name.

"What happened?" The father asked. For a minute, he thought his son either hadn't heard or was ignoring him, until he turned, regarding the man as if he'd never seen him in his life.

"A Lash" Ellis said, and he looked down, noticing for the first time that he was also wounded. "We were tracking it, but I got distracted by a featherfly we'd disturbed, and Jakob didn't notice I'd fallen behind. It took him totally by surprise. It was his scream that shook me out of the zone."

"Zone?"

"It's what Jakob calls the spells where I concentrate on one thing so hard I lose contact with reality. I haven't had one in months..." he trailed off, then raised his head and tilted it to one side. "What's taking those blasted servants so long?"

"You're hurt," his Father pointed out.

"Just some scratches. It's him I'm worried about; he's been unconscious since I found him." Ellis sat on the edge of the bed and brushed the tangled curls back. "Jakob? Can you hear me? Come back to me, please, beloved. Come back."

Inside the Father, something snapped, and he grabbed Ellis' arm. "How dare you," he snarled, not caring if he caused his son pain. "How dare you allow him to come into my house and steal your love for me away."

Ellis turned slowly, and his gray eyes were as cold and hard as ice on a river. "Your love?" He stared at the old man a minute, then began to chuckle mirthlessly. "Your love? And what did your love ever do for me, besides sentence me to a living nightmare, trapped in my own body? You never accepted who I was, and you dare to speak of having your love stolen! You would have me be like you: Cold and unfeeling, unyielding and hollow as a tomb?" He advanced a step, and his Father, frightened now, tried to pull away, but Ellis' grip was an unbreakable as iron. "Until Jakob came to me, I knew nothing of the outside world. Nothing of love, or freedom, or friendship, or control. He alone taught me the truth. He's stood by my side while I've moaned and complained about having to do exercises to keep my skills honed. He's faced darkness and cold to keep me from zoning. You think I just learned how to control the magix all by myself; that after nearly 21 years of being tormented by my senses, I snapped out of it on my own?"

"Let go of me, Ellis," the Father said, but there was no strength in his voice.

"Not until I make you see the truth, old man. The truth mother tried to tell you in your dream...Oh, such a look of surprise! I know all about the dream; Jakob told me. Remember what Mother said? Didn't you ever stop to wonder what she meant? He," and he pointed at Jakob, "is the other half of my soul. He is my teacher, and my brother, and most importantly, my beloved! He is everything to me, and I am everything to him, and nothing can separate us, even death. We were destined to be together, and if he'd not found me when he did, I'd be dead and crumbled into dust. Yet you dare accuse him of stealing something that was never yours in the first place?" He released the old man's arm. "The servants are coming with the water. And I can hear the healer's horse down the lane. Get out of my sight before I show you what happens to those who try to harm the one I love."

His father rubbed his bruised arm, edging towards the door. "What became of the Lash?" He asked, his voice shaky.

Ellis looked at him, and there was a gleam in his eye that nearly made his father choke. "I killed it. Snapped its neck with my bare hands." And he held out his hands towards his father, who almost tripped over both the servants with the water AND Steffen and the healer coming up the stairs in his haste to get away.

Downstairs, he shut himself away in the study, lighting the fireplace; for though it was summer, there was a chill upon his soul that no amount of warmth could ease. And he stayed there all night, even when Steffen came and knocked on the door, telling him the healer said that Jakob would recover; the Lash had only broken his arm.

It was almost a month before Jakob was well enough to be up; the longest month of the old man's life. Ellis avoided him altogether, taking his meals in their room, nursing Jakob as he healed. The servants tiptoed around doing their appointed tasks, afraid to speak too loudly or move too quickly. Only in the middle of the second week, when, for the first time, Jakob's infectious laughter once again echoed through the house did the tension ease for them.

One evening, as the Father was sitting in his study going over some papers, a knock came at the door. "Come in," he called, assuming it was Steffen, for it wasn't unusual for the boy to come and talk with him before bed.

The door opened, and he looked up to find Ellis and Jakob standing side by side, dressed in traveling clothes, each carrying a pack.

"This is the price, then?" He sat down his papers and looking at Jakob, who was still pale from his ordeal, his arm bandaged.

Jakob nodded. "She said it would be dear. And if there were another way, I would not have it thus. But it's what's necessary."

"Necessary." He looked at Ellis. "What say you?"

"What I said that night," came the calm reply. "We're going to Wal. There are rumors they've been having trouble with draugs and the likes slipping over from the West. They could use someone with my gift. From there?" He smiled and shrugged. "Who knows? Middleworld is a big place, and I have a long life ahead of me." He slung his pack across one shoulder, and tried to take Jakob's as well, but his friend refused to release it, muttering 'I can carry it myself; I'm not an invalid, you know.'

They turned to go, and the Father felt the same coldness he'd experienced the night of the dream. "Will I see you again?"

Ellis half-turned, gray eyes cool. "I think not. That, I believe, is part of the price; that the cut be clean. But I doubt you'll miss me. You've got Steffen to keep you company."

Then they walked down the hall, talking softly to each other, and just before they slipped out into the night, as the old man moved to close the study door, Jakob's rippling, musical laughter floated back to him, and he knew his wife had spoken true: The price was dearer than any he had ever paid before or would ever pay again.

 

"I think she's asleep."

"Am not," Maddz whispered, opening hazel eyes and looking at Greer. "And did they live happily ever after?"

"Yes."

"Good," Maddz murmured, eyes beginning to close again. "I suppose I should feel sorry for Ellis' Father, but I don't. He was a horrid man. Will I find the other half of my soul someday, Greer?"

"Almost assuredly." The wulfyn nuzzled her hair. "Isn't that how it always happens in my stories?"

 

Finite


End file.
